


Pain

by Alayne_StoneColdFox



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Power Dynamics, Pseudo-Incest, Revenge Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:58:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alayne_StoneColdFox/pseuds/Alayne_StoneColdFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr's back has been troubling him, she can tell, but his pride won't let him admit it. </p><p>Sansa has ways to force an admission from him though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain

“Please, please, please! Oh, I'm so close, so close!”

Sansa was always louder.

The four poster bed rocked underneath them, the old wood creaking, adding to the noise of her pants and moans and breathless utterances.

Petyr usually reserved himself to a few muffled grunts and lowly spoken words of filthy encouragement. If Sansa were to clench herself around his cock, she would be able to draw out a moan from him, but other than that he was the more silent of the two, and for good reason.

He slapped a hand to her ass even as she rode herself breathless atop him.

“Keep yourself quiet girl, do you want the whole castle to hear you come?”

He was met with a most charming laugh, her pace not slowing at all.

“Yes!” she said, though this time in more of a whisper. 

He slapped her again for good measure and she yelped

“You can do that again, but I can't say it will quieten me down any,” she said as he thrust harder and harder into her, no doubt close to his own release. She could see it in the sweat on his brow, the way he seemed to clench his jaw in the fast paced minute before he spent inside her.

She couldn't help it. In those final moments Sansa cried out again in her release. The walls were thick, their chambers at the Gates of the Moon were far enough removed from the hub of the castle, but as her eyes were closed and she gasped and shook, she heard Petyr cry out beneath her. Truly cry, a strangled guttural sound, so odd coming from him that it made her eyes snap open.

“Petyr?”

His face was contorted, as his hips stopped bucking up beneath her, as she stilled her own gyrating to simply sit upon him. She didn't even know if he had finished, she couldn't feel the well known warmth of his seed within her, and she frowned as she saw his gritted teeth, even as he was now still.

“Petyr, are you alright?” she began to worry, sliding herself off his body to hover by his side.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, voice slightly strained as he seemed glad to have her off him. The first thing he tried to do was sit up, but Sansa watched the exact moment he seemed to hiss and give up that notion, laying there flat on his back.

“Does something hurt, you look in pain?” 

He waved her away “Just a cramped muscle, most likely. They happen, it's normal,”

“Oh,” she nodded, thinking of the few times Petyr had had her legs hoisted in the air over his shoulders, and how sometimes her foot would cramp quite awfully “Would you like me to rub it?” she asked, quite coyly, but was surprised to find him flinching slightly as she slid her hands across him.

“No, no, I shall just...it will fade on it's own and be gone by morning, don't worry yourself Sweetling. Run on back to your chambers. Make sure no one see's you.”

Sansa frowned at the sudden dismissal, even if it was said in kind tones. She slid off the silk bedsheets and grabbed at her shift and gown, pulling them on briskly, not bothering with the back laces, she would only cover them with her cloak anyway.

“I am never seen, don't you worry.” she sniffed.

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The next morning she was helping Robin to spread butter on his bread, when Petyr emerged, though she glanced over his form and noticed he was hunching a little bit. His walk was more ambling, than his usual strides.

“Father,” she greeted, with a wry tone and raised eyebrows at the stance “did you sleep alright last night? You look weary.”

He slid out his chair and she saw him try and suppress a wince as he sat down, avoiding her gaze all the while, reaching for the plate of fruit as if nothing was amiss.

“Do I? I slept just fine, besides being kept up late writing ravens.”

His voice was snappish and irritable, as if he was blaming her for keeping him up. Writing ravens, fucking her, was his own choice, but Sansa could not rise to it when their were serving girls milling about. 

“Hm, perhaps you should retire earlier. Leave the ravens for another night.” she said, haughtily, wiping crumbs from the corners of an oblivious Robins mouth.

He saw his mouth purse “Perhaps I should.”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

She caught him rubbing his back when he thought she wasn't looking. Kneading little circles with his knuckles, pain evident on his face.

A pulled muscle, she scoffed.

He would shift uncomfortably in any chair he sat in, thinking he did it so inconspicuously, but she noticed. She was watching for it now.

The day after that she walked in on him bent strangely over his desk, or at least that was what it looked like he had been doing, for as soon as she'd entered the room, Petyr had bolted up and flustered himself into what he thought might come across as a casual position.

“Are you alright, father?” Sansa asked, eyes narrowed slightly, and the question was met with more flustering in the most un-casual way.

“Yes, of course I am alright, why?”

“Just asking. It simply looked like you may have been stretching, is all,” she trailed off.

“I thought I dropped my quill. I haven't been able to find it,”

Sansa pointed across his desk, where it sat right before the half finished document he'd been writing.

“Is that it there?” she said with a sweet voice and a smile, to which he shot a quite nasty look back at.

“Yes. Thank you.”

The next day at breakfast, she had placed a soft cushion on the hardwood chair, in a small effort to perhaps provide him some comfort. She told herself it was her being kind and considerate, but truly it was a slightly mocking gesture. She had to hide her smile as she saw him lay eyes on it as he pulled his chair back, eyeing it with a certain kind of disdain.

He said nothing, grabbing and thrusting it into a passing servers hands, bidding them to get rid of it. 

He tried his hardest not to wince as he sat down.

Another couple of days passed and Sansa could not stand it anymore. At first it was slightly amusing to see him strain himself for the sake of some type of pride, but now it had begun to dawn on her that if nothing was to be done about it, she would be alone in her chambers with only her own hand to please her for who knows how long. 

And that wouldn't do at all.

Later that evening, Sansa pushed on the door to Petyr's chamber, only to find it bolted. She huffed, before giving a little rap at the door with her knuckles, hoping he would not already be asleep. Most likely not, he was ever the night owl. 

“Father,” she crooned “It's me, let me in.”

The habit of calling him father ran deep these days. It was for a sense of safety, for in case she was ever overheard, and these days she could admit to herself it was a comfort too, as strange as that sounds. She rather thought Petyr liked it too.

Sansa pressed herself against the wood of the door, ready to knock again, just as it opened and she was ushered inside quickly.

“I didn't send for you.” was her warm reception, and if he was going to be like that, she may as well be blunt herself.

“Is your back troubling you? I know a lot of older men often suffer from such a thing, and if that's what has made you so off all this week, then theres no shame in saying it.” but she was met with a harsh, dismissive laugh as he seemed almost offended.

“No, for god sake, my back is fine.”

“You don't seem fine.” she muttered.

“I'm hardly an old man, ready for a cane or a wheeled chair.”

“I said no such thing, but if your back is hurting-”

“Which I just told you it isn't. Listen to what I tell you, and if I tell you I am fine, I am fine, and I wont hear any more about it. It is beginning to irritate me.”

Sansa held her tongue, lest she laugh. He was almost as cranky as sweet robin these last few days.

Since they were alone in the solar at present she sidled up to him with a deceptively innocent face, even as he looked like he was in no mood for it “I am glad to hear that, father. I would hate to think you were suffering at all, why, the thought had occurred to me that you haven't sent for me these past few nights, solely because of a pain that had been ailing you.” she bent down to kiss his cheek softly in his chair, giving him an ample view down her dress as she did so “I am so glad to know I still have such a fit and well father to take care of me.”

“Yes, well,” his voice had softened slightly at her sweetness, and no doubt from the show of her pushed up cleavage “I have other reasons I have not sent for you, but my health is not one of them.”

Sansa didn't force him to back up an answer to this obvious lie, she only blinked prettily and leant in ever closer, voice a sugar soft whisper.

“So does that mean that I may let you take care of me tonight, father?”

She carefully slipped her arms around his shoulders, and of course his hand trailed up to her waist. What a strange look on his face, slightly hazed with an oncoming lust, yet slightly wary too. Sansa wondered if thats a look she used to have when they started all this.

Even more carefully she lifted up her knees to straddle him in the plush arm chair, hovering over him, so that he did not feel any of her weight.

“Cock hungry girl,” he murmured “Can't go a few days without a fuck.”

She pressed her body closer to his, settling her ass down against his crotch, where she rubbed lightly to urge an erection from him “Why must you be nasty.” she teased, rubbing even harder as she saw his jaw clench in badly disguised pain “I can't help it that I want you, so.”

He grabbed at her ass, as if he could some how still her. Control her. Not when you're weak like this, she thought.

She kissed him with an open mouth, and as she ground down a little more roughly on the hardness she could now feel beneath her, and he bit, pulled at her bottom lip with his teeth. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin as she only met his force with a force of her own, kissing him harder, if that's what he wanted. Sansa smiled through this all consuming kiss. What a fun game this was going to be. 

She was rutting against him like a girl in heat now, hips and ass drawing lewd circles on his lap, over exaggerated and forceful. Even through the small breaths he let out as they didn't let up on their kiss, she could hear moans. Whimpering little noises. Good, good, good, she bucked harder and harder.

“Sansa,” he gasped finally, the first to break “Get on your knees, get down and suck me off.” she could hear him use his usual domineering voice, one she was almost always too keen to follow, but not tonight. She could practically hear the begging in his demand, and she wouldn't let him off so easily. Oh, he'd like to simply have her tongue his length, sat placidly at his feet, no, no, he would not be so lucky.

“No, I want to fuck. I want you to fuck me now, father, you must.” she said quite breathlessly, spurred on by her own recklessness, and how fun this was.

“Sansa, you'll do as I say, and you'll do it now-” he tried to order her, but Sansa had sat back and pulled her loose night dress down over her shoulders, baring her breasts as she pulled the skirts up above her waist.

“Please, please, I am desperate, you said so yourself, I'm a cock hungry girl.” she began pulling at the front hid breeches and she could see anger flash in his eyes, but what was he to do? He may have been able to pick her up and flip her back over onto the bed, but not tonight, not in this state.

“For gods sake, what has gotten into you-” Petyr said, eyes wide, almost in disbelief about what was happening, how he was not being listened too, but as his cock was taken in her hand, what else could he do but shudder with pleasure as Sansa quickly began to roll her fingers around the sensitive tip.

“Fuck me, oh, fuck me please,” she whispered above his lips, as she felt his hands grip her now bare ass so hard she hoped he left bruises.

With a resigned almost pained sigh, as if he could not resist, she was drawn down onto his cock. She felt it rub at her entrance, slip between the soft pads of her lips, and up between her ass as she rocked back and forth over it, coating him with her wetness.

“Fill me with your cock, father, all of you, I want you to fuck me hard.” she gasped as she felt th head slowly break through the entrance of her slit, her tightness only causing the slightest of pains these days, and Petyr grunted into her neck as he was the one to slowly guide her down his length.

“You speak like a trained whore.” 

“Aren't you a man who trains whores?” she teased, as she settled all the way down to the base of him, stilling for one moment. For his benefit.

“Slowly,” he said. Warned. Begged, as Sansa drew herself up and slid herself back down again. She let out a small moan, the pleasure of being filled, smiling to herself all the while. 

She fucked him slowly for all but half a minute, before her pace quickened, and quickened, and he was once again digging hands into her hips to try and still her.

“Sansa, I said slowly-”

“But I need more, I need you to fuck me harder, father, I thought you liked to fuck me hard?” she suddenly began to thrust herself on and off him, building up the pace relentlessly. Petyr sunk down lower into the chair and she could see his mouth drop open in a silent gasp of pain, his breath coming out in barely tempered pants.

“Please, please, please, fuck me hard, fuck me hard, fuck me hard,” she chanted over and over as she pushed him further down into the badly shaped chair, his back no doubt causing him great pain and with every time she slammed her ass down, riding his cock, he now grunted blatantly.

“Sansa, stop....fuck....stop,” he pleaded.

“Why, what ever for? You haven't come yet, I won't stop until I have you come inside me. Come for me father, please, come for me.” The old wood of the chair creaked beneath them, shaking back and forth as they fucked, or rather, Petyr was fucked quite unwillingly at this point.

She should not take such pleasure in this, she thought, and that was not simply from the feel of him between her legs, it was that she had him breaking beneath her.

“Gods, stop, stop, for fucks sake, have mercy on me, girl.” he roared, but still she would not relent yet.

“It hurts doesn't it, your hurting right now, aren't you? Say it, you have to say it, and I'll stop.”

“yes, yes, It hurts! Now get off, you awful, awful girl!”

Sansa, finally, did as she was told, coming to a still as both their breathing came slowly back to normality. 

She felt the need to say no more as she ripped the confession out of him, content to pull herself off his glistening cock and smooth her dress down as she nestled beside him on the chair only just big enough to accommodate her. She watched as Petyr seemed to mutter a stream of soft profanities as well as thanks to the gods under his breath, eyes closed, his torment over. 

“Awful...awful, girl...” he repeated, and Sansa smiled in what anyone else would consider a sweet way. Then he tried to stretch, lift himself up in the chair, and their was a terrible cracking sound and a whimper of pain that did not suit him.

“So now can you admit that not everything as fine as you would have me believe?” she asked, in an irritably sugary voice.

He grunted from the back of his throat “....I thought that I would perhaps be better after a day or two...then that turned to me thinking I would after three, and then four, and then five....now of course, you have probably set me back from feeling better for another moon turn, most like.”

“We can get the Maester to have a look at you. He might know how to help.” but Petyr scoffed.

“God...going to a Maester for an aching back...soon then it will be for aching knees and an aching neck, and then an aching everything. Ageing is a curse, once you are over five and thirty, it is all down hill from there.” he rubbed a hand over a weary face, and Sansa perhaps felt the smallest twinge of guilt over teasing him so cruelly. Only a bit.

“You aren't that old, father.” She consoled him.

“I am. See? Look at the corners of my eyes, these incessant lines, and the grey that takes over my hair more and more each passing year.”

She mustn't laugh, the vain old thing, so Sansa reaches down to kiss his cheek “I still think you are a very handsome father. Much more handsome than Myranda's father, Nestor Royce is fat and balding, with flabby cheeks that wobble when he talks, and I don't like the look of all the other old men here at the gates.”

He let out a slight laugh at that “Oh, to be the least stale slice of bread in a spoiled loaf.” he said, derisively “What about your dear Harry, hm? Or any other of Lady Waynwoods boys, all young, strapping things. I doubt they have any trouble with aches of any sort.”

Vain, vain, vain and stroppy, that's what this old man could be, Sansa thought, sliding up from his side and down between his legs.

“Well, perhaps we could push them onto some well placed rocks in the courtyard. See if that doesn't cause them any aches.” she smiled up at him as she once again reached for his cock, only to take it gently into her mouth, warm lips enveloping the head that still tasted like her.

Finally, she earned a warmer smile, as she sucked and Petyr breathed in, sinking into a much easier sort of pleasure, his hand threading through her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> This is another drabble inspired by me arsing about with ideas on Tumblr with friends, usually starting along the lines of 'wouldn't it be funny if-'
> 
> And I thought it would be funny if old man Baelish had a bit of a complex when it came to growing older. Especially when he has such a bright young thing to keep up with. hashtag#sugardaddyproblems


End file.
